After Salamatchia
by Loafer
Summary: This is a one-shot Karlton story (Lassiter & Vick). If you do not like Karlton, DO NOT READ THIS STORY. You have no one to blame but yourself if you read a Karlton and then get upset because it's a Karlton. OK? Those of you who do appreciate the occasional Karlton story (and you know who you are): carry on.


**Disclaimer**: I claim nothing.

**Rating**: T

**Summary/Dedication**: RebekaCaren requested a **Karlton**, so this is for her, and it's dedicated to every fanfic reader/writer who doesn't slavishly adhere to canon or write the 'popular' pairings. In a sense, it's dedicated to the anonymous Annas out there who feel the need to go to a writer's story and say "this isn't popular (even though you're getting positive comments from people who like it), so _I_ think you should stop." You know what? _**I **_don't like yellow mustard or lemonade and I don't think Will Ferrell is funny at ALL, and the day I eat raw fish is the day I put yellow mustard in a glass of lemonade and drink it down, but I'm not going around to sushi restaurants saying "_some_ people don't like this, so stop making it." Mmm, kay?

Set in the immediate aftermath of Season 4's _Shawn Has The Yips_. Just a little one-shot.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

They returned to the station, O'Hara and Lassiter, and Karen had a few seconds to pull herself together before they came to stand in her open doorway.

It was a wonder her voice didn't crack as she asked a relatively simple question: "What happened?"

All she knew was from O'Hara's brief call after it was over: Salamatchia had been arrested, and Carlton was okay.

_Okay_.

Meaning there must have been a point at which he was not expected to stay okay.

This should not have affected her the way it was affecting her, but _everything_ about this case had affected her in ways it shouldn't.

They hesitated, and after a glance at Carlton, O'Hara spoke evenly. They caught up with Carlton and Salamatchia at the cemetery. Carlton was handcuffed, and Salamatchia had a gun to his head.

O'Hara had to drop her weapon—she left out the part Karen understood instinctively, which was that Carlton _asked_ her to—but Spencer caused a distraction and Carlton was able to get the upper hand over Salamatchia.

"While handcuffed?" she repeated.

O'Hara, after another glance at Carlton, smiled cautiously. "While handcuffed."

Carlton was silent.

"Carlton?" Karen prompted, again marveling that her voice was even.

"Yes?"

"Anything to add?"

"No, ma'am."

Now she was dumbfounded.

"I'll make a full report," he added quietly.

She got it, then.

He was... recovering.

Carlton Lassiter was not afraid of death; she knew it. He was fully aware each time he drew his weapon that things might not go his way—although his skill and justified arrogance combined to make him pretty sure things _would_ go his way—but this time was different.

She didn't know _why_ yet, but she would make it her business to find out.

Her eyes burned suddenly, and she took a moment to find composure while Carlton fidgeted; Juliet's attention was on him too so neither noticed Karen about to lose it.

"Thank you," she finally said. "Carlton. For your service."

Startled, he fixed his vivid blue eyes on her, and for about two seconds she felt as if they were really exposed to each other for the first time in… maybe ever.

"And don't say you were just doing your job," she forestalled him. "That goes for you too, O'Hara."

O'Hara looked uncomfortable. "Chief, honestly, I feel like all I did was drive the car. It was Shawn who figured out where he was, Shawn who caused the distraction, and Carlton who saved himself and incidentally the rest of us."

Karen put up her hand before Carlton could say anything in protest. "Then, Detective O'Hara, you have just become the first cop who ever deserved a commendation simply for driving a damned car."

O'Hara's eyes grew wide, and Carlton reached over and touched her arm briefly.

"I'll help you write it up, Chief." His voice was low, and he was looking for a reason to get out and decompress: she could see it plainly in his expression.

"Go on," she told them. "Leave _nothing_ out of the reports."

**. . . .**

**. . .**

That day, Karen understood now, was the day she lost herself to Carlton Lassiter.

It wasn't something she wanted for herself or needed in her life, not then. At that time, she _thought_ she was relatively happily married. She _thought_ Carlton was just a compelling and frequently aggravating force in her work life.

She _thought_ she never thought about him at all.

But that day, she sat in her car for half an hour after work and went over what she'd read in the reports. She went over the answers Juliet O'Hara gave her when she handed hers in. And she knew Salamatchia would have killed him, period, no do-overs. One shot to the head, and Carlton would have been gone.

This was what cops faced every day: not getting to go home. It was what they did. It was what Carlton did, and there were dozens of other times he might not have gone home at the end of a long and dreadful day.

She knew it intellectually as well as emotionally: she'd lost other officers over the years. She'd worked with other officers—even before becoming Chief—who were gone now because they had done their jobs.

But Carlton… _Carlton_ was supposed to outlast everyone else. Sheer bullheaded scorn for the very idea of mortality at the hands of _mere criminals_ was supposed to carry him through.

Yet on that day, it was a tossed phone and Spencer's haphazard 'skills' which saved his life; rather, which gave him the opportunity to save his own life.

His life which should never have been in danger because he shouldn't have been about to die at the hands of a man he'd been trying to help; a man who was supposed to be on their side. This time he had no weapon, no chance, and from the sound of it, no way for O'Hara to help him.

And sitting in her car, she couldn't stop a few shocked tears from escaping, never mind her role as the tough Chief of Police.

That day turned out to be the beginning of the end of her marriage.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

"Your hair was too short back then," she commented, drawing lazy circles on his bare chest.

"When?"

"A few years ago. When Salamatchia nearly killed you."

Carlton turned his head and gazed at her consideringly. "Why are you thinking about that now?"

Karen smiled. "Your hair, or Salamatchia?"

He stopped her hand's movements with his. "Guess."

"No reason, really." She nestled more closely to his warmth, drawing the sheet up further.

"Karen." The growl in his tone was one she simply could not resist.

"I saw someone who looked like him, that's all. And it reminded me of that time, and how I could have lost you."

"You didn't have me then," he pointed out reasonably, if unromantically.

Karen responded by tugging at some of his chest hair, eliciting an "oww" with a sharp intake of breath. "And _you_ know what I mean."

"Yes, _dear_."

She had to laugh at his half-mocking tone, and rolled herself on top of him to look quite seriously into those large expressive blue eyes, eyes which seemed to see everything about her and reveal everything only _she_ was allowed to know. "I love you."

"Yes, dear," he said again, and laughed when she pummeled his chest. "Sorry, sorry. Stop that—hey now." With a warning growl—she couldn't resist that one either—he quickly flipped them back over so he was on top, effectively stopping her assault.

The delicious weight of his lean body holding her still always took her breath away. "I love you," she repeated.

"I love you too, Karen." He was hushed now, and deposited light sweet kisses on her forehead and cheeks. "You and Iris and our life and this chance to have it all with you."

Karen sighed. "That's better." She nuzzled his jaw and throat and moved somewhat suggestively underneath him.

"And as for my hair," he added, "lesson learned."

"I hope so. Don't think I won't write you up if it ever happens again."

Carlton drew back, amused and yet clearly trying to assess her seriousness. "A hair faux pas?"

"There's got to be a code somewhere."

"Then why haven't we arrested Donald Trump?"

"Red tape," she said with a laugh, and when he kissed her, she forgot everything, just like she always did when Carlton kissed her; she forgot everything except the love and the need.

Both would remain long after Carlton was gone... and most likely long after she was gone, too.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

**F I N**


End file.
